example of passive virtue, till He shall see fit to restore you to that eminent degree of acceptableness and service you have once enjoyed. “I am, sir, your most obliged humble servant, “BARRINGTON. “My wife is very much obliged by your civility. She has desired a copy of your letter, which, she says, will be as useful to her as it has been entertaining, if it be not her own fault. Both our humble services attend the good family where you are. I am sorry my lady’s cold is like to deprive us of their company on Wednesday.” Yet another of the circle of friends, whose names occur to the mind when we think of Watts, is the saintly JAMES HERVEY. One of Watts’ biographers speaks of “the bloated effusions of Hervey which are now justly discarded, then not only tolerated, but admired.” It is an unjust judgment; James Hamilton was much more fair and faithful when he says of him that “he had a mind of uncommon gorgeousness, his thoughts are marched to a stately music, and were arrayed in the richest superlatives;” and he speaks of Hervey’s “Theron and Aspasia” as “one of our finest prose poems.” James Hervey deserves that his name should be mentioned with great affection and respect. His life was perpetually stretched upon a rack of infirmity and weakness. There is even a kind of pathetic drollery in watching him at Weston Favell living his bachelor’s life, and, while stirring the saucepan which held the gruel constituting his modest meal, turning aside to derive some new fancy, fact, or image from the microscope on his study table. As a writer, he indulged himself too freely in colour, but many of his works are very pleasing; he was not only passionately fond of natural scenery, but in an equal degree delighted in the discoveries of natural history; his copious description of the human frame is one of the most seductive dissertations on anatomy and physiology in our language; and those subjects, not remarkable for being invested with the charms of fancy, certainly do in his descriptions appear to be invested by the fascinations of poetry. He was a friend of both Doddridge and Watts. He lived ever in the neighbourhood of the grave, but his little church of Weston Favell was filled with a loving congregation. It was a small flock, for it was a small church: but the humble villagers felt a large amount of affectionate regard for their feeble and yet famous friend. Into his church he speedily introduced, after their publication, Dr. Watts’ Hymns. So he tells Watts: